Broken Mirror
by Snarkydame
Summary: Crossover: Farscape. John Crichton is dragged into the Pegasus Galaxy. On Hiatus.
1. Chapter 1

Ahem. . . .

Let's try this again, shall we? I'm rewriting this piece. Progress may be slow, but I'm happier with it this time around. For those of you who were reading Broken Mirror -- Thank you for your patience. And sorry, but new chapters (while definitely coming) will continue to be erratic.

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This story is a crossover between Farscape and Stargate Atlantis. Spoilers are very possible (though, for the most part, unplanned) but mostly for Farscape, especially The Peacekeeper Wars. However, the story will mostly be in the Stargate universe, so spoilers might slip in there too. The timeline should be somewhere early season 3 on SGA.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or their worlds.

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_Sheppard_

"So, where the hell is he?" Maybe that came out a little harsher than I'd like, but hey, I'm hungry. And running late.

The two young marines in front of me try to look at each other without turning their heads. It only makes them look cross-eyed.

"Sir?" the taller one finally asks. Geez, he sounds like he thinks I'll bite. What does Caldwell tell these guys on their way out here?

"Lieutenant Tinneman. You know, beefy guy, Boston accent. The marine who's supposed to be showing you rookies around the city? Ring a bell?"

When the two kids can only shake their heads in confusion I turn away. Hiding a sigh, I motion for them to stay put. Honestly. Like I don't have better things to do. My team's probably already waiting in the gate room.

Not that I can blame the newbies for not recognizing Tinneman. He's barely shown his face since they'd got here. Used to be a steady enough guy, one of Everett's relief force. Boring though. Very much a background player. Lately. . . Lorne had him on report for several minor infractions, and had sent him to see Heightmeyer at least once. She said a bad trading mission might have spooked him, so we put him on baby sitting detail. With this, it looks like I'll be sending him home on the Daedalus after all.

If I can find him, at any rate.

"Paging Lieutenant Tinneman. Urgent message for Lieutenant Tinneman." I try to sound like that calm voice that comes over an airport's speakers, looking for lost children. No, impatience doesn't make me sarcastic at all.

Unlike the last four calls I'd put out over the radio, I get an answer -- from Jones, up in control.

"_Is there a problem, Colonel?"_ the sergeant's Midwestern calm hides an eager undertone. It's been boring, for a change, guarding the gate.

"Are there any dots on the LSD that could be my wandering marine, Sergeant?" I had visions of sending Heightmeyer to talk the man down from one of the balconies. Wouldn't be the first time she had to do that for somebody.

There was a pause as Jones had the tech on duty pull up the screen. "_The only person off my themselves, who isn't in the living quarters, is down in Sector C, about two corridors past the labs. You want me to check it out?"_

Sector C, Sector C. . . "Hang on Jones. McKay, your radio on?"

The response was immediate, and more than a little irritated. "_Colonel, you'd better have a good excuse. Teyla tells me the "friendly native" types make these really delicious sounding little cakes, and really, we're risking a good. . .diplomatic. . .whatever. . .with them by being late already, so --"_

"Sorry, Rodney, something's come up." I roll my eyes. "Have you got any of your people working down in Sector C?"

"_What? No, of course not. Those labs are all damaged, totally useless. I'd fix them, but I have better things to do. Why do you ask?"_

"No reason. Sit tight, this might take awhile."

"_Colonel, what --"_

"Ronon, sit on him." I tune out his spluttering. "Jones, have Sigman come take charge of Tinneman's rookies. Leave Taylor in charge up there and bring Hagarman with you down to Sector C."

"_Yessir."_

"You two," I bark at the rookies, "stay here. Wait for Sigman. You can't miss him -- tall skinny guy. Bright red hair." I throw this last bit over my shoulder as I jog off. Sector C's not close, and there's no active transporter in the area. At least I won't need to worry about talking the Lieutenant down from a balcony --- there weren't any. But if he's up to anything less suicidal, he'll be seeing the inside of the brig until Caldwell comes back. Just for making me miss my feast.

_McKay_

"Get _off_, you lump of leather. He didn't mean literally!" I try to twist around to glare at Dex, but he doesn't move. Seriously, he weighs like an ox. "Teyla, move him!"

I swear I see a smile on her face as she moves toward us. "Ronon, perhaps you could release Dr. McKay. I do not believe that shade of red is healthy."

Dex grunts (probably laughing at me) and gets up, hauling me along by my pack. "Careful!" I growl, brushing myself off.

On anyone else that raised eyebrow would be a mild expression. On Ronon Dex it's a smirk. An evil, petty, smirk. And Teyla just smiles.

I snort and walk away from them. So, Sector C has something going on, huh? Won't tell me what you're doing, huh, Sheppard? Even though you're ruining my dinner. There's nothing _in_ those labs! What could possibly. . .

"Perhaps he will tell us if he needs us." Huh? Oh, Teyla.

"Was I talking out loud? Sorry. And ha. Ha. Ha. Like he'd know he needed us before he _really_ needed us."

Dex's hand lands on my shoulder before I can keep walking. "Sheppard said stay."

"What am I, a Labrador? Look, whatever's going on down there, there are labs in Sector C. Labs are _my_ responsibility. Therefore, I'm _going_ to the labs. Let's go." I snap my fingers at him for emphasis.

He looks to Teyla before letting go with a shrug. "I'm not good at waiting around," he says.

"It does not seem that wither of you are." She sounds almost cross, but still, she follows us. Ha. She doesn't like kicking her heels anymore than we do.

"Well then, since we're all agreed, this way," I proclaim, striding off. "Let's get this done, dinner's waiting."

_Sheppard_

It's pretty creepy down here. Definitely not one of the more scenic areas on the Atlantis tour. All dark and kinda damp. Smells a little fishy. Huh. I should send the rookies down here during their initiation. Show them what things could be like if we get careless. Or unlucky. I could send them here and to McKay's lab -- "And here we have an example of all the things you Do Not Touch without permission. In particular, permission from that guy messing with the nuclear bomb in the corner."

Actually, I don't think Rodney actually has a bomb in the lab anymore. I think he might be getting tired of things that go boom.

"_Sir,_" Jones' voice comes over the radio. "_Hagarman and I are on our way. Sigman has the kids. And, uh, the gate room says your team's coming too."_

I sigh. Of course they are. "Thanks for the heads up Sergeant."

Well, we'll have enough people for a real intervention, at least. I pull out my handheld LSD. Still just two dots on the screen. That's me and, I'm hoping, Tinnemen. Maybe one more corridor over. I slow down. If the Lieutenant has gone over the bend, I don't want to end up full of holes for running up on him.

Suddenly, three more dots pop up behind me, and I spin around, gun up and ready.

"See, told you we'd catch up with -- Hey!" Rodney cuts himself off with a yelp, ducking behind Ronon, who rolls his eyes.

Oops. I lower the gun. "How the hell'd you get down here so fast?"

Rodney straightens, muttering about Rambo. "I fixed the transporter in this sector almost a month ago. Didn't get the memo?"

"No, Rodney, I didn't get the memo. And anyway, I was expecting you to wait for me in the gate room!"

Ronon grunts as he and the rest of my team fall in around me. "Liar."

"What he said," Rodney adds absently, staring over my shoulder at the LSD. "Who's that? Nobody should be down here." He pulls out his own life-signs detector, as if mine were wrong somehow.

"That's what I'm here to find out."

"Oh, are we sneaking? 'Cause sound kinda echoes down here. . ." He trails off as I glare, and huffs. "Fine." He occupies himself with the scanner -- looking for what, I don't know.

"All right, look," I say, keeping my voice low. "I think that's a marine, Lieutenant Will Tinneman, who's gone a little screwy. So we'll take this nice and easy, and keep everything calm until Jones and Hagarman get down here to toss him in the brig. Or to bring him to Heightmeyer. Whatever seems appropriate. Then we'll go apologize to the natives on Cake world, and eat our feast, okay?"

Ronon and Teyla nod, but I don't hear McKay's enthusiastic support. In fact he's stopped behind us, staring at the screen in his hands, a little frown creasing his forehead.

"McKay?"

"Hmmm?" He doesn't look up, just makes a few adjustments and frowns some more.

"Rodney!"

"Sorry. I'm just getting some odd power readings here. You sure that's a marine down here? By himself? 'Cause, no offense, but most of your goons don't know anything about anything that would give off these sorts of readings. I'm not sure we even _have_ anything that would give off these readings."

"Well, I'm not so sure anymore. . ." I trail off, looking hard at my LSD. Still just one dot. "Let's check it out."

_McKay_

Really, these readings are. . .well. Weird, for lack of a better term. Whatever is giving off this power signature is at least holding steady. Doesn't look like it will explode anytime soon. But there was _nothing_ down here. We'd stripped the Sector of anything remotely useful and moved it all to areas in better repair. Of course, now that we had a working ZPM we probably could come in and make the repairs down here. . .but there are so many other things that need upkeep, and there really is nothing down here. . .except for _that_ whatever that is, and it certainly wasn't down here before. . .

"Dr. McKay. You are doing it again." Teyla's soft voice startles me away from the readings. I look up to see Sheppard's exasperated look.

"What?"

He raises an eyebrow and gestures to the corner.

"Oh, right. Sound. Got ya. Lead on, Colonel." And he does, of course, with Ronon close behind. Teyla sets her hand on my back. Not shoving, just. . .there. It's sort of nice.

There's a whole row of empty rooms in this corridor. Storage, most likely, seeing how close it is to the damaged labs. But whatever was in them originally was long gone by the time we arrived. Whoever and whatever is setting off these readings are imported. Not Ancient. And not likely Lieutenant Billy Tidleman, or whatever his name was.

So when Sheppard and Ronon open the door to expose Dr. Hilde Browne, one of Kavanaugh's old research team, I'm not surprised. Well, surprised it's her maybe, but not that it's a scientist. Actually, I'm really very surprised it's her.

"Browne! Why are still on Atlantis? You left on the last -- and what the hell is _that_ doing here?" Because the large slab of mirror that the doctor is trying unsuccessfully to hide behind her skinny back would certainly be able to cause the sort of readings that were blinking on my scanner, but most certainly should not be here. Or anywhere, in this universe. Not anymore.

I start to step past Sheppard to get a better look at the mirror -- the _active_ mirror -- but he blocks my advance.

"An explanation would be good, McKay."

I answer him absently, still trying to see the scene behind Doctor Browne. Some sort of market place maybe. But was that some sort of . . .hairless bear. . .thing? With _way_ too many teeth -- and a _pink_ robe? "Colonel, this can't be here." I insist, pointing at it.

"Okay, I get that, but what _is_ it, Rodney?" He's watching the bear-thing too, though, thankfully, it doesn't seem to be paying any attention to the mirror. Just passing by, looking decidedly odd over the shoulder of Browne's white lab coat. Here eyes are jumping from Sheppard to me to Ronon, then skipping over to Teyla, but she says nothing.

"It's the Quantum Mirror. General Hammond ordered it destroyed years ago." Sheppard rolls his eyes and sighs. Oh fine, straight to the point. "It's like a doorway to a parallel universe. Well, more like an alternate reality. You realize that's a two way connection, don't you Dr. Browne? Did you see that thing over there? The thing in pink. . .with the _teeth_?"

Sheppard and Ronon both raise their guns. "Two way, McKay?"

"Well, we can see them, and they could see us, but they'd have to touch the mirror on their side to get over here, and there doesn't seem to be anybody . . .anything. . .that close to it." It seems to be inside some sort of tent in the market. Not a very busy one. . .but there are armed guards walking past the tent. "Those are some really big guns, though."

"Dr. Browne, turn that thing off." Sheppard's voice is icy. And _now_ the woman decides to talk.

"I won't. You wouldn't want to maroon the Lieutenant on the other side, would you Colonel?" Her chin is lifted belligerently, which will only piss Sheppard off, but still, she hit the right note. The only thing she could have said, really, to keep him from shutting the thing down by force.

_Sheppard_

Damn. Damn and damn. So instead of a spooked out marine I've got a mad scientist, a two way doorway into an alternate reality with _big_ guns, and a missing Lieutenant. Great. So. Keep calm. I can feel Ronon at my side, finger steady on the trigger. I look over at Teyla, on McKay's other side. Her eyes are tight (she saw the guns too) but her face is calm. McKay looks ready to shove Browne out of the way to get a better look at the Mirror, but he's waiting for me. I look back to the doctor. There's a controller, or a scanner, or something, in her hand. Her face is set, eyes hard. She's not lying.

"Explain."

The sharp chin goes up a notch. Her voice, clipped accent (South African?) cold, doesn't waver, even though Ronon's gun is practically pointing up her nose. "Tinneman has volunteered to retrieve a valuable resource from the other side. A weapon, one we can use to fight the Wraith. If I turn this off, the Lieutenant, as well as that resource, will be lost. It could take months to find the proper coordinates again."

"McKay? That sound right to you?"

"I know I'm an expert on, well, everything, but I didn't read up too much on this thing, seeing as how it was supposed to be destroyed and all. But that could be right."

The scene behind Browne's shoulder is getting more active. Guards -- they could only be guards -- running past the tent, guns up. "Doctor," I growl, stepping closer. "You'd better have a way to call him back."

Her eyes flash. "He'll be back with the resource, or not at all. We are committed, Colonel, to the salvation of our galaxy."

McKay snorts. "Probably should be committed to something, anyway." Then something crosses in front of the mirror, and as Rodney yelps and Ronon's gun whines, charging, that something crashes into Browne's back, and flash of what looks like lightning cracks across the mirror. It blackens momentarily, and then shows nothing but our own reflection.

Teyla has her hands on both my arm and Ronon's. We don't fire. Hopefully, the stranger kneeling on Tinneman's chest -- the marine proving to be the something that had crashed into Browne -- won't either. His gun, a rather large and business like pistol, is pressed against the Lieutenant's forehead. Tinneman's hand is slowly unwrapping from the stranger's left wrist, which is locked around the marine's throat.

Even McKay is quiet.

Then Browne, half underneath Tinneman, groans. The stranger twitches, noticing, finally, the rest of us. He meets my eyes -- his are almost as blue as Rodney's -- and gently releases Tinneman's throat. He pulls his gun back, but leaves it aimed uncomfortably close.

Teyla lets go and makes one step forward. The stranger's eyes turn to her, then back to me, studying the uniform. He frowns.

In the silence, I can hear running steps. Jones and Hagarman. They reach the door in time to freeze under the stranger's second gun. Damn, but the man moves fast. Ronon almost fired, but Teyla managed to reach back and take his arm again.

Cautiously Jones looks to me. "Sir?" he asks. Hagarman just stares.

Like I have _any_ idea what's going on at this point. "Look, just . . .hold steady. Everybody." This last I direct to the stranger, who cocks an eyebrow.

"Lieutenant. Care to tell me what the _hell_ is going on?"

Tinneman doesn't look away from the stranger's gun. He has to convince his voice to work. "Colonel Sheppard, I can explain --"

"Somebody'd better!"

He takes a deep breath, and, as Browne shifts beneath him, blurts out -- "This man is John Crichton --- he can make a weapon to defeat the Wraith!"


	2. Chapter 2

_Crichton_

_(a while earlier)_

The market is buzzing. I concentrate on Aeryn's black coat, swishing around her ankles, red lining flashing at every step. Black. Red. Black. Swish. I try not to listen to the crowd, but might just as well have tried to stop my pulse -- four cycles of honing an instinct is hard to reverse.

. . . _say he signed in blood. . .Never thought she'd . . ._

_We can take the binary route to . . . cut short . . . profit. . . .No blockade._

_. . . face comes apart like a . . .Eidolan!. . ._

_Not worth . . .no arms. . .new merchandise. . ._

Trade talk. War was good for some business, bad for others. War's end was too, apparently. And the treaty, legendary Eidolans and all. Peace. Signed and sealed, though not in blood.

I couldn't see it, myself. Didn't feel it. Hadn't been there.

Then, there was other talk.

_. . .fire. . . ate the ships . . .black hole. . ._

_Whole system's gone unstable. . . gravity well. . .missing. . ._

_. . . Crichton. . .the planet, all the . . ._

_Crichton . . ._

_. . . Crichton. . ._

Almost, when I hear those whispers in the crowd, I wish Harvey was still around to distract me from the hungry, burning void that spun behind my eyes, swallowing two armadas and ruining a solar system. Ending the war with a bang and a shudder.

I tilt my head, to drain the thoughts away. "Aeryn," I call, and she looks over her shoulder. God, I love her face. "Are we about done down here? I hate to think of what Sparky might be teaching Little D while we're gone."

Her lips quirk. She hadn't wanted to come down to the commerce planet at first. Our son is barely two weeks old, after all. But I had insisted -- just me and her. Take a few arns, pick up supplies, buy something nice. Mostly, I had wanted to get off the ship. I love Moya. But the silence where her captain's voice used to be was making my head ache.

Now though, the press in the market was making me twitchy. I was always. . . twitchy. . . lately.

"We're nearly finished," Aeryn says, waiting for me to catch up. "I want to pick up something for Rygel, for. . . baby sitting."

"Something edible? Or something shiny?" I ask her, sliding my arm around her shoulders. My wife. That part of these last few weeks was definitely, infinitely good.

"Oh, well, I suppose it should be suitable for a Dominar about to reassume his throne. Do you think a crown, maybe? Or, I know, a scepter! He would enjoy one of those."

I groan as theatrically as I can. "No, no, no. He got into way too much trouble the last time his got his flippers on one of those. Better stick to food."

She nods solemnly. "I saw some shops near our transport pod that should carry something he'd like. We'll get it on the way."

I leave my arm around her shoulders as we walk. Not too long ago, that would have made both of us a little nervous, even in a quiet, backwater market like this one. Too conspicuous, too easy to impede a fast duck and draw. Now though -- Aeryn is as watchful as ever, but -- just a little -- more relaxed. Something to do with our son, I think. Then again, it could be something to do with the fact that she actually saw that treaty signed.

On my part, I just want to hold on to her. I'd lost her too many times. And lately, I felt . . . a little insecure. Like something bad was coming. Habit, I guess.

I had tried to leave Winona and the spare in the pod. Hadn't made it. What kind of new father does that make me? Wasn't I supposed to be seeing all the good in the universe? All the hope? Here I need a security blanket in the shape of a pulse pistol!

"They're not after you any more, you know." Aeryn didn't even have to look at me to see how I was doing. "It was a condition in the treaty."

"Yeah, I know. But I keep expecting to run into a wanted beacon, or see Scorpy ducking behind the next shop like a bad spy movie villain."

Her eyes tighten a little. "He knows that you no longer have access to wormhole weapon technology. You are no further use to him."

I force a smile, wide and fast. "He knows." I just don't think he believes it, anymore than I think he trusts the Scarrans to keep to the treaty, Eidolans or no Eidolans. No. Scorpius has too many years of hate in him for that.

Although, it is possible that I'm the one having trouble letting go. Hell, I haven't been _sane_ for a good portion of the time since I left earth. Paranoia seems a pretty mild consequence, considering. Maybe that explains the twitchiness.

Or maybe it was the fact that even in this nameless little backwater, someone really was following me.

_Aeryn_

John's arm on my shoulders tighten. Just enough. And isn't that strange, to be the second to notice our tail? To be the one _not_ seeing trouble in every shadow? Somehow, it makes me sad. Not that I was second, but that John was first.

Sometime in the future, I'm sure that he will walk on a planet unarmed. Relaxed. Sometime, he will be able to do so without expecting to be a target. And that really is strange, that I want that. Wish for it, so very much.

Perhaps it's because this feeling of peace is harder to _re_gain than it was to find in the first place. It's still new for me, and seems extraordinarily strong -- but John knows how fragile it is. It was torn away from him, in many small and desperate bites.

Maybe it was the jagged scars that warn him of the man in the crowd before I see him. Maybe it was the years of seeing things in the corners of his vision.

He is a big man. Not tall, but well muscled, with a face like the bull dogs I had seen on Earth. He looks Sebacean, though I don't recognize the uniform. It is more like the strangely bulky uniforms on Earth than the form fitting armour I'm used to. It looks as though there should be patches on the sleeves, but they are missing. Or removed.

John has swung into the swagger he uses in enemy territory. The walk that says he owns whatever he has boarded, and can go wherever he pleases. That walk is convincing, but I can feel the lie in the tense muscles of his arm. See it, in the teeth showing in his grin.

I'm beginning to hate that grin. His real, honest smile -- the one he shows our son -- is so rare now.

Our tail is keeping well back, stopping to question a Nebari merchant about his wares. He returns to our trail before we are more than another tent away. Too impatient. He's eager.

John's grin widens. He stops.

"Aeryn. I feel like meeting new people." He looks sideways at me as he says it, almost asking permission. Or offering apology.

I take a slow breath. "Remember," I say, "we need to get back to Moya soon." And to the people aboard her.

I walk away from him, letting his arm slide off my shoulders.

_Crichton_

I stand not quite on the edge of the street. There aren't many people passing on this end of the market. I set my feet and wait, right hand comfortably on Winona's hilt. The man following us stares. He knows I've seen him. Will he fade away, or approach directly? That twitchy feeling built at the back of my skull. I want to run, back to Moya. That's why I stopped here. I'm tired of running.

Even if my own instincts are telling me to sprint back to my hole like a frightened bunny rabbit.

The man looks more human than any Sebacean I've seen lately. It's the clothes. Obviously a uniform, but then, uniforms are common in this part of space. Everybody has an army, a militia, a merchant's guard, a sewing club. Whatever. Something about this guy is . . . hinky.

He's braver than I thought. Or maybe he just hasn't heard all the rumours. He comes up to me. Aeryn, against the next tent, stiffens. But apparently, he only wants to talk. For now.

"Commander John Crichton?" There's something strange about his voice, but I can't quite put my finger on it.

Ah hell, why not. "That's me. Want an autograph?" He sorta smiles, but it doesn't touch his eyes. No sense of humour, those eyes.

"I haven't got a lot of time, Commander. Could you spare a moment to walk with me?"

Whoa, whoa, whoa. My instincts are really worked up now, crawling down my spine. But another part of me -- maybe that same deepest instinct that tells lemming to jump off cliffs, and moths to fly _really_ close to that fire -- is interested. And Aeryn will be right behind us.

Really comforting, that thought.

I want to hear him talk, I think. Figure out why his voice is making me nervous.

"Lead the way." I smile at him, full of as much of that old Southern Hospitality as I can remember how to show. But there's a lot of teeth in my smile, and Winona's hilt quivers under my hand.

"Thank you," he says, and I fall in beside him. I don't need to look to know that Aeryn follows. We walk slowly, and he talks. About being a part of an expedition, about traveling to new worlds. He tells me about meeting all sorts of new cultures, finding strange technologies.

It was interesting, I'm sure, or would have been, if I was listening. But I let his words sort of flow around me, and paid more attention to his voice. We get to the back end of the market before I realize what's been bothering me so much about it.

His voice matches the movement of his lips perfectly.

The microbes I'm so used to translate a language instantly in my head, so that conversations are like being in a dubbed over foreign film. I'm so used to the disjointedness that I rarely even notice it anymore. But this guy -- for his words to match his lips like that -- he has to be speaking English.

In shock, I pay even closer attention to the sound. Soon enough, I can pick out what sounds like a Boston accent, and that instinct, the one crawling down my spine, starts digging in claws.

I stop, holding up my left hand. "Wait." He turns to look at me. "Who are you, exactly?"

There must be something sharp in my voice. A market guard with his troop, making their rounds, turns to look at us. The stranger straightens his shoulders, as though tempted to salute.

"I am Lieutenant William Tinneman, United States Marine Corps, and I need you to come with me, Commander." And with that, he grabs my left wrist and pulls.

I hear Aeryn and the guards yelling as we crash through the side of a tent. I reach for Tinneman, Winona coming free with a snap. He twists, still clutching my wrist, and we hit something in the shadows of the tent.

Then, we are . . . elsewhere. Winona digs into Tinneman's skull, and he's turning sort of purple with my hand around his throat.

That's when I realize we're on top of somebody. The feminine groan is a small clue. There are more people in the room. Very startled people, with drawn guns. I decide it would be good to let the marine breathe.

A woman steps forward. Something, maybe the calm in her eyes, or the way the men behind her look so confused, holds my fire. I always did prefer to talk first anyway. But there's only silence in my head. Maybe I'm in shock.

And then I hear running feet in the hall, and the silence roars. The spare is out and aimed before I even register the two new men -- marines, like Tinneman, by the uniforms.

They were talking -- all of them confused. The dark haired man, the one who seems to be in charge, says something to me, and I raise an eyebrow, though I haven't heard a word.

The roaring in my head is deafening, but I try desperately to think through it. Somehow, these people are from Earth. Didn't seem to be my Earth, what with the travel to other worlds and all, but still, Earth. An Earth with an United States, and a Boston, at least. And I'm here against my will, in the middle of a bunch of people with weapons aimed my way. How familiar.

The roaring is subsiding now, at that familiarity, and so is that first blind panic. Tinneman is talking.

"This man is John Crichton," he says. "He can make a weapon to defeat the Wraith!"

I can't help it. I nearly fall backwards laughing. Tinneman and the woman we'd landed on scramble away from me, and I notice just enough to track them with Winona.

I keep laughing, to hide the fact that my hands are shaking. To keep the fright out of my eyes. Because I've realized that, behind me, Aeryn isn't there.

_Aeryn_

The tent, torn and flapping, brushes against the back of my legs. The guards mill around the dusty trade goods, confused and more than a little worried. I stare past them.

It looks like a mirror, cracked and burned now. A great scar is burned through it from a guard's stray shot. The thought comes quite clearly through my mind, locked down as the rest of my head seems to be. _Frelling amateurs. Shooting before they know what's going on._

I push past them. They'd gone through here. There had been a flash of blue light, and then they were gone. He was gone.

One of the guards makes a move to stop me. I stare at him, and he drops back. I am more dangerous then they are.

When I touch the mirror it is cold. Already the heat of the blast is gone. Nothing flashes under my hand. Nothing happens.

"You." I grab the nearest guard. "Have this transported to dock 6a." The boy looks to his commander, who looks at me. He shrugs.

There is no one on this planet who could have built this thing. The merchant who owns the tent hasn't returned, even with all the commotion. Or because of it. I will take this thing back to Moya. Find someone who knows what it is. Someone who can fix it. Then I'll go after him.

And if that frelling piece of dren were still with my husband. . .

I have found my peace, but I still remember how to shoot.


End file.
